


Paint Perfect

by anivhee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Crack, Crossover, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Teasing, that's an actual tag omg?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:39:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anivhee/pseuds/anivhee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights it was too easy to forget that they are just a shadow of who they were, a fragment that’s only there by a thread of magic. Some nights, when they’re together, it feels like it did back then, and living inside a frame doesn’t really matter.</p><p>Until they get caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [badsexfest](http://badsexfest.livejournal.com) [prompt](http://badsexfest.livejournal.com/1908.html?thread=28276#t28276): 
> 
> "Harry Potter, people in paintings: It's really hard to find an unoccupied and not-often-looked-at frame in the castle, but they do the best they can. (Bonus points for Violet, the Fat Lady's friend, finding out about it and telling everyone.)"
> 
> i don't even know if the fest is open or not but i nEEDED TO WRITE THIS
> 
> Shoutout to Teresa, Ana, Anne, Maria and EVERYONE WHO WAS PUSHING ME TO FINISH THIS. HERE YOU GO. YOU'LL REGRET IT.

Some nights it was too easy to forget that they are just a shadow of who they were, a fragment that’s only there by a thread of magic. Some nights, when they’re together, it feels like it did back then, and living inside a frame doesn’t really matter.

Until they get caught.

It was going alright, as far as it could go—Merlin had left his frame at a respectful hour, tiptoeing from paint to paint, looking for Arthur. They had planned it a while ago, and the rush of doing something like _that_ in _public_ —not that they were aiming for _that_ sort of public—was exhilarating. 

Arthur had said two days prior that he’d found a great space, near the dungeons. Apparently someone had placed a painting there that its owner had abandoned, so they wouldn’t be imposing and they also would have ‘privacy’. 

When they got there, the anticipation was too much—they searched for each other’s mouth desperately, bumping their foreheads while they were at it. Merlin smiled cheekily at Arthur, trying to ignore the throbbing pain that was slowly spreading there, and leaned down to kiss him softly. Arthur deepened the kiss, angrily pulling at Merlin’s tunic—he always complained about the tunic—and pressing him against the wall. Merlin sighed into the kiss, running his hands through Arthur’s hair, pulling at it. Arthur groaned appreciatively, licking the inside of his mouth, then nipping at his ear, trailing down his jaw and neck, and then choking out hair from Merlin’s beard.

“I hate your beard,” he muttered, as he did always, while they paused so that he could pull out the strands of hair from his mouth. “Why couldn’t they picture you as _you_ , and not an old man?” he lamented, like all the other times he had done so in the past, and frowned at him, as if it were Merlin’s fault to be old. 

“You’re old too,” Merlin pointed out as he took off Arthur’s chainmail, running his hands through it fondly as he remembered the countless times he used to do that in the past.

Arthur scowled. “I _know_. This is such an insult. I died young!” his outrage died when he saw the look on Merlin’s face. “Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry,” he reached out for him and kissed the side of his face. “I’ll shut up now, okay?” they were only in their breeches, and Merlin flushed. They weren’t exactly as before, that was a fact, but they still had pieces from their days. 

They started kissing back, slowly at first, testing each other’s mouths; Arthur nipping at Merlin’s bottom lip. They got back into the mood—though reluctantly—pretty fast, rocking their hips together and grunting and gasping and _biting_ and—

“Merlin? Is that you?” a soft voice asked. They both froze, maybe if they remained still… “Oh, my God, it is you, isn’t it?” the voice increased in its volume, and they could easily recognize her.

 _Violet_ , that old hag. 

She let out a shrill laugh. “Oh, my! And is that our precious King of Camelot?” she walked closer to them and Merlin sneered. 

“Get away from here, you stupid crone!” 

She let out a squeak at that. “Merlin!” she shrieked, but turned on her heels and walked out. 

“I’m sorry,” he told Arthur, trying to kiss him again. “That stupid hag—”

“Forget her,” his King murmured, nuzzling his nose with his. “She’s gone now, isn’t she?”

Merlin wanted to assure him that yes, she was gone, but something weighted on the pit of his stomach just by thinking what that rotten gossip would do. He cursed the way the night was going and dove down to Arthur’s neck, hurrying his thoughts away. Arthur hummed and skimmed a hand down Merlin’s briefs, palming his semi hard cock and stroking it gently. Merlin shivered a little, biting on Arthur’s neck and making the man groan. Before Merlin could decide whether it was from hurt or arousal, Arthur used his other hand to take off his breeches and lay him down on the floor. He then traced his body with his tongue—pushing the damn beard aside, of course—until he had him on his mouth, running his tongue over the tip, bobbing his head enthusiastically until Merlin moaned out his name repeatedly and arched his back, his head lolling to the side.

Where he caught a pair of eyes staring at them.

He tried to stand up quickly, to hide what they were doing, and while this felt a lot like they were teenagers, a lot of things were different. The dizziness, for instance. And he was pretty sure that were he’d been a teenager at that moment, he could’ve come up with a good retort and not stand there like a deer caught in the headlights, with a terrible headache and a painfully hard cock. 

But apparently, Arthur had had enough.

“God! Will you go away?!” he roared, lips swollen, cheeks fuming and hair sticking out everywhere—Merlin didn’t really remember when he caused all that, but the look on the young man shaped to a challenging stare. 

“And if I don’t?” Prefect Tom Riddle asked, folding his arms across his chest. “You are disrupting the hall, I command you to stop this.”

“You’re not going to give me orders!” Arthur scoffed. “You’re merely a boy!” he rose, not paying attention to Merlin’s whimper as his erected manhood was on full display. He looked a bit barbaric, actually, and Merlin didn’t recall the moment he had taken his own breeches off. “Get out of here!” 

“Arthur,” Merlin started, but he was ignored.

Mainly because Riddle’s eyes flared with a color that was quite close to home, and also because there was a clatter and when they turned, they found the hag again, only with the other hag. And almost all the characters of other paintings.

“Ohhh!” the Fat Lady crooned. “I must admit, Violet, when you told me this was happening, I couldn’t believe you! Oh, it was such a good decision to leave that old frame!” she laughed and Merlin wanted the painting to shred to pieces.

Riddle must have been thinking along the same lines, especially now that the chaos on their little abandoned frame was causing more scandal than Merlin and Arthur’s private encounter. He sneered, flicked his wrist, and the painting fell to the ground, everyone inside letting out sounds of distress.

“Shut up!” he commanded. They didn’t listen, so he shouted it. When they kept groaning and cursing, he rolled his eyes and picked up the painting. “I have better things to be doing than to calm a horde of paintings!” 

“Then leave!” Violet screeched, and the rest laughed. “We don’t want you here, anyway!”

Riddle’s upper lip lifted slightly at the witch; he skimmed through the faces, looking for the ones that had started the whole thing. “Where are Arthur and Merlin?”

They all turned to each other, frowning. Then Sir Cadogan shouted “My King must have been kidnapped! I must rescue him!” and fled the room, Sir Leon and Sir Lancelot shaking their heads slightly at that. Then Sir Gwaine’s shout of “I found them!” had them all running like crazy cows.

Merlin sighed after he saw Riddle disappear down the hall, shaking his head and muttering stuff about “removing paintings when I run this place” or something along those lines. He shook his head and touched Arthur’s arm, who was now angry at the world and was glaring at the corner the entire characters had fled from. They were hiding under the table, and any reminiscence about their arousals had died long ago.

“Well, wasn’t that awkward,” Merlin tried to smile, but Arthur’s glare was worse when it was directed at him. He ignored it, though, and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he hid his face on the crook of his neck. “I’m the one that wanted to do this, and I’m the one that said this would work,” he sounded so ashamed, though. Merlin took his face between his hands and kissed him soundly. 

“We can still make it work, though,” Merlin told him after they parted.

“How? They’ll find us again.”

“Hmm, you think so? I’m pretty sure they think we changed scenarios,” he smiled wickedly at him. “And, you know, we don’t really have to wait just because we’re old. We’re paintings, after all.”

Arthur’s smirk was answer enough.


End file.
